#florist au

[bilosan]

buddie + flower shop au

(9-1-1 // gif prompts)

#911edit #buddieedit #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie au #flower shop au #florist au #au #911 #911 abc #911 fox #gif prompts #vicgifs

[spicycinnabun]

pt. 2 3 4 5 6 7 💐

The first time Eddie visited Harrington Floral at Starcourt Mall, it was after he’d finished band practice and had a craving for an Orange Julius. If Californians were good for one thing, it was making smoothies.

It was the mountain of flowers being assembled in the window display that caught his attention, stopping him in his tracks on his way out. Eddie stood there with his guitar case slung over his back, slurping his way through frothy orange goodness as he watched.

The florist was biting his lip as he carefully adjusted the position of a baby blue delphinium. A strand of hair fell into his eyes. The arrangement was called Take My Breath Away, according to the cue card in front of it.

Eddie’s breath certainly had been. He was completely enthralled as the florist’s huge hands expertly handled those delicate little flowers. He hadn’t bent a single petal.

The florist seemed to realize somebody was staring and glanced up—and weren’t those some of the warmest, puppy dog brown eyes Eddie had ever been caught by?

“Gorgeous,” he mouthed, winking and gesturing towards the arrangement, though he was talking about both man and flower.

The florist squinted and frowned at him, pointing at his ear and shaking his head.

Eddie grinned and shrugged. Ah, well.

A customer in the store caught the florist’s attention because he suddenly glanced behind himself, wiped his hands off on his green apron, and then left the window.

Rocking on his heels, Eddie turned to leave, but he spent the rest of the day thinking about the cute brunet and his pretty blooms.

����🪻🌻🌹

co-writing this with @batty4steddie 💕

#fic #wybmb #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie au #florist au #flower shop #florist!steve harrington #eddie i can buy myself flowers munson #💐

[navybrat817]

Navy, Navy, Navy! The most wonderful person to grace this app!🫶🏻

This totally gives off Florist Bucky&Petal vibes🥹🥹

https://www.facebook.com/reel/130668179932929?s=yWDuG2&fs=e

Most wonderful person to grace this app, nonnie? I'm not, but you are too kind and I appreciate that. Hope you enjoy this fun size fic.

Aroma

Pairing: Florist!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky adores domestic moments with you. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Sugary sweet fluff and love, established relationship, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?) Graphics talent and thanks: Divider by @firefly-graphics. Moodboard and header by yours truly. A/N: A little for something for my favorite florist for this sweet nonnie.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The second Bucky's alarm rang out in the bedroom, he reached over to shut it off. Not because he wasn't ready to get up, but because he didn't want to disturb your sleep. You still had time before you needed to get ready for the day and he wasn't going to wake you if he didn't have to. Even though he had to get up, he took a minute to hold you closer against his chest.

Breathing you in feels like home.

He hadn't expected to become such a cuddler, a bit afraid in the beginning because of his metal arm, but dating you changed that. More often than not he found excuses to hold you and you never seemed to mind. Feeling your soft frame against him, along with your sweet scent, constantly brought him a sense of peace. It reminded him of being in his shop surrounded by warmth, beauty, and brightness.

My beautiful Petal.

You let out a tiny moan when he rubbed his nose against your neck, smiling to himself when your heart raced faster in your sleep. As much as he wanted to keep you in his embrace, he had an early day at the shop and had to get moving. Placing a tender kiss over your pulse, he carefully tucked the blanket around you as he grudgingly slipped out of bed. He brought his clothes to the bathroom, too, so he wouldn't have to turn on the light and risk waking you.

He did his best to be a thoughtful boyfriend.

Brushing his teeth and taking a quick shower, he reflected on the domesticity of your relationship and how much he loved it. After you cooked dinner together the night before, the blend of spices and herbs lingering in the air, he suggested a documentary he wanted to catch up on. About halfway through, curled up against him under one of your soft blankets, you fell asleep. Instead of turning the television off when he noticed, he took a minute to watch the colors from the screen move along your beautiful face. Once he finally brought you to bed, in just his shirt, he swore he saw you smile sadly in the darkness as you snuggled against him once again.

"Did I miss it?" you asked, cracking an eye open.

"You made it halfway through," he replied, hoping you didn't feel bad for needing sleep.

"Sorry I crashed," you said with a slight pout, confirming his thoughts. "I know you wanted to watch it."

"It's okay," he assured you with a kiss to your forehead. "We can finish it another time."

It didn't matter that you didn't stay awake for it. What meant the most was that you wanted to watch it in the first place because of him. A normal night, seemingly insignificant, but the little things like that shined just as bright as the major moments.

After brushing out his hair and getting dressed, he smiled as he saw the half full bottle of cologne on his side of the sink. He needed to spritz a shirt for you before he left. Grabbing it, he expected you to still be in bed once he left the bathroom. What he found was an empty room and an open door. Frowning as he set the bottle on the nightstand, he heard light footsteps in the kitchen and wondered why you were awake. Did he wake you up? He tried not to make any noise.

The familiar aroma from his favorite coffee greeted him as he left the room and he had to stop to take in the sight of you. Still wearing his shirt and slippers on your feet, you set his to-go mug on the counter and poured him a drink with a yawn. You were likely still half asleep, if he had to guess from your slumped shoulders, and it took a lot of willpower not to drag you back to bed to tuck you in. Breathing a deep sigh, he wondered how you managed to always look so stunning.

“Morning,” you yawned again when you caught him staring.

"Morning," he smiled as he joined you, pulling you into his arms. "Did I wake you?"

"No. You were nice and quiet," you mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder. "Made you coffee."

“I can see that and I appreciate that, but why aren’t you in bed?” he asked when you reached up to play with his hair.

“Just wanted to do something nice because I love you," you said, lifting your head to brush your lips against his. His heart swelled as he kissed you back and he wondered if you knew how much the moment meant to him. "Hope that's okay."

Tempted to drop down on one knee and propose then and there, he stopped himself. He had a plan and wanted to stick to it. “More than okay. Thank you."

I love you, too.

Taking your hand, he pulled you back to the bedroom. "We having a quickie?" you teased.

He chuckled as he grabbed the cologne and sprayed the air directly in front of you, watching your eyes briefly light up from the smell. "Just a spritz as much as you're tempting me. Back to bed."

Not having to be told twice, you ungracefully collapsed on the mattress with a huff.

Adorable and you're somehow mine.

"Have a good day, okay?" you murmured, resting your hand on his pillow.

Bucky fell in love all over again as he bent down to give you one more kiss. How long had he dreamt of finding someone like you? A caring partner who stopped by his shop to bring him food after a long day. Someone who supported his drive to continuously learn, like researching what it would be like to become a dad. And didn't mind getting up early just to see him off for the day.

"I'll have the best day now with the best cup of coffee from the best girl I know," he promised.

And he hoped you had the best day, too.

Our man is so in love! Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #florist!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #florist!bucky barnes #florist and petal #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #florist au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x female!reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan

[ohouraphrodite]

#florist au #james potter #james potter fanart #marauders era #marauders fanart #jily

[fortheloveofallthings]

Steddie Florist AU - mini fic (inspired by a twitter prompt)

Eddie never bought flowers. Not once in his life had it even crossed his mind. But every afternoon before he heads into his shift at the bar he steals a glance at the perfectly styled man through the window organizing the bouquets. Every once in a while, Eddie would catch himself stopping dead in his tracks staring between the guy and the flowers, and every once in a while they’d make eye contact. His face would flush red as he quickly buried his face back in his leather jacket and rush into work.

Steve loved making bouquets. He loved flowers, and the chill of the cooler they were kept in. He loved sharing holidays with the strangers that came and went. He loved the curly hair and leather that floated across the windows from the storefront. And he loved that stranger’s rich chocolate eyes even more. The deer in the headlights look he’d stumble upon when their views locked. One afternoon, the man finally walked in and after all his failed attempts at love here he was ready to try again. He stood from where he was kneeling, “What brings you in?”

Eddie practically burst into the shop with no game plan in mind and stopped immediately at the entrance. Thankfully the man, much more gorgeous without the glare of glass between them, spoke first. “Oh um, not sure? I walk by everyday and uh thought id look around?” A small giggle escaped the florist, “sure man, look all you want. I’m here if you have any questions.” He flashed a well executed customer service smile then went to tend to some of the house plants across the sales floor. Eddie waded through the aisles curiously examining the buckets of roses and countless other flowers he didn’t know the names of. He lingered around the… “Seems like you like the dahlias” the florist said, lingering next to Eddie making him jump. “Shit man! You have a quiet step” “I’m sorry, Robin scolds me for scaring her all the time.” He looked away sheepish. “Well at least you can make it up to her with all these lovely flowers,” he nervously chuckled, “She must love that quality in her partner at least.” The florist laughed, “Shes not my girlfriend, no. Shes my best friend… and co-worker.”

Steve could’ve watched this man walk around the shop for hours. The curiosity he wandered with held a child-like wonder, an interest in the unknown and he had to go and scare the guy. The man sighed relief and got back to the flowers, “wait? These are dahlias? Like the murder?” Steve lost it at that, “like the murder!?” He laughed, held his stomach and everything. “Yes like that, but it was a flower first.” “Oh right, well maybe ill get one of these?” The man asked so unsure if that was even ok. “Of course, you want just a single one?” The man combed his fingers through his curls then rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh ya just one of the purple ones. Im sure theres an empty bottle at work I can put it in. Might be nice to have it on the bar.” They walked over to the counter and Steve wrapped the single dahlia in a sheet of black tissue paper. “This one is on me,” Steve winked. The man’s cheeks flushed pink and the guy avoided any eye contact like the plague. “You sure? I don’t mind paying,” He offered. “I’m sure, least I could do for scaring you.” The man took his single flower with utmost care turned towards the door and just before leaving he turned back to Steve. “If you’re free later, head over to the Red Dragon. Its only a block down the street, I’ll get you a drink on me. Just ask for Eddie if you don’t see me, sometimes I get stuck recycling the kegs in the back”

Part 2

#steddie fanfic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #florist au #tempted to make this longer

[x-uno]

Brewing Blooms: Florist!Sanji x Barista!Reader

note : indecisive me couldn't decide on whether I should make Sanji a barista or a florist ;v; I STRUGGLED FOR THE WHOLE DAY but ultimately ended on him being a florist - :DDDD LIKE HEAR ME OUT IT'S LITERALLY PERFECT FOR HIM

| 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

THE FIRST RAYS OF DAWN'S GENTLE LIGHT pierced through the half-closed blinds, painting a soft, golden canvas across the snug interior of your coffee shop. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans intermingled with a hint of cinnamon, creating an aromatic symphony of warmth and comfort.

You, a dedicated barista and the proud owner of this intimate coffee sanctuary, were no stranger to the early hours. The soothing hum of espresso machines, the rich fragrance of freshly ground coffee, and the hushed conversations of your loyal patrons composed the daily chorus that cradled your mornings. Yet, on this particular day, the serenity of your routine was disrupted by an explosion of energy and excitement. 

Amid the soft pre-dawn glow, Nami flung the coffee shop's door wide with an enthusiastic flourish, clutching a bouquet of fresh flowers in her hand. "Y/N! Flowers for you!" she cried out, her voice brimming with excitement. Your heart skipped a beat, and you blinked, startled and confused. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in surprise as you turned to face Nami, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Flowers? For me? Who on earth...?" Your mind raced, wondering who could possibly be sending you flowers. It had been a while since you'd been involved in any kind of romantic relationship. You didn't recall mentioning any recent love interests to Nami.

Nami's gaze danced with amusement, her lips curving mischievously. "You never told me you had a boyfriend!’"

You chuckled at the assumption. "Believe me, Nami, if I had a boyfriend, you'd be the first to know. This is quite a surprise, though." You carefully picked up the card attached to the bouquet, your fingers deftly sliding it out from among the blossoms. 

Nami leaned closer, her curiosity piqued. "Well, what does it say?" With a puzzled expression, you read aloud, "For Petal Paradise?" 

"Petal Paradise…Petal - OH!" Nami snapped her fingers in realization. "It’s the flower shop that just opened nearby."

You raised an eyebrow. "Petal Paradise, huh? They must have had a mix-up with the delivery. I should probably return these." You murmured, adjusting your hold on the bouquet.  "Can you manage without me for a bit?’"

Nami waved her hand dismissively. "Of course, Don't worry about the café. Just go next door and play nice with the florist." She winked mischievously. 

You chuckled at her playfulness and nodded. "Thanks, Nami. I'll be quick." 

With that, you headed next door to Petal Paradise, your curiosity growing as you approached the charming flower shop. The little bell above the door tinkled softly as you entered, and the fragrant air of the flower shop enveloped you. 

Sanji, the talented florist, was busy arranging a stunning bouquet, his nimble fingers carefully selecting each flower and placing it with precision. 

You cleared your throat to get his attention. "Excuse me," you began, "I think there was a mix-up with a flower delivery. I received these at my café, but they seem to be intended for Petal Paradise." You held out the bouquet to him. 

Sanji, with his hands still delicately arranging the blossoms, looked up with a warm smile. His eyes sparkled with appreciation as he examined the bouquet you held out. 

"Ah, a mix-up, you say? Well, it's fortunate that you're the one who received them. After all, these flowers deserve to be in the presence of someone as radiant as you."

"Are all florists in this neighborhood so skilled in flattery?"

Sanji chuckled, his confidence unwavering. "Only the ones who recognize true beauty when they see it." 

Rolling your eyes playfully, you retorted, "Flattery will get you everywhere, won't it?’’ Sanji flashed a grin and leaned in a bit closer, his eyes filled with playful mischief. 

"Everywhere and anywhere, bubs. It's a florist's secret weapon, you know."

"Oookay, casanova," you said, shaking your head with a grin, "Are you taking the flowers or not?" You gestured to the bouquet in your already outstretched hand, bringing the conversation back to its original purpose.

Sanji's composure snapped back to the task at hand as he accepted the bouquet, his fingers gently brushing against yours. "Oh, right! Sorry!" 

With the bouquet now in his care, Sanji straightened up and extended a hand toward you, a friendly smile gracing his features. "I should have started with a proper introduction. I'm Sanji." 

You returned his smile, placing your hand in his. "Y/N. I own the coffee shop next door."

As you spoke, your gaze naturally drifted to the intricate tattoos adorning his arm, peeking out from beneath his rolled-up sleeves. The designs were an intriguing mixture of vibrant blooms and winding vines, a testament to his deep connection with the world of flowers. Your eyes followed the intricate details, captivated by the colors and the artistry behind them, unable to hide your curiosity. But just as quickly as your gaze lingered, you averted your eyes, not wanting to appear too intrusive.

"Neighbor!" He grinned widely. "Well, I guess it might be fate, madam!"

"Fate, huh?" 

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, but I'll be counting on you to visit me whenever the need arises." He handed you a card with a wink.

"The need to get flowers, you mean?"

"Well, of course! But also the need to get to know me better."

His cheeky response took you by surprise, and you found yourself laughing at his audacity.

"We'll see about that." you replied, the words were more of a playful challenge than anything else.

taglist: reply to be added !

© 2023 x-uno ── all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, edit, alter, or redistribute my work. 

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla #florist au #barista au #vinsmoke sanji #one piece

[aziraphales-library]

helloo could I ask for some fluffy coffee shop AU fics? not just coffee shop but one of those that involve a shop of some sort, like a bakery or flower shop or tattoo parlor etc.

something like

"The Book Hoarder, the Flower Grower and the Latte Art Maker" by AnnaTheHank

"the demon next door" by ghost_daddy

"All You Knead Is Love" by fumi_faust and Writer_Maxtli

and "Angel in the Window" by themaybedoctor

I'm not that experienced in looking for things on ao3 so I'm hoping you could help me find more like these? thanks :)

We have tags for these! #coffee shop au, #florist au, #bakery au, #tattooist au. Here are a bunch that I don't think are on those tags already...

New Canvas by NaroMoreau (T)

There's someone new in the shop across the street that Aziraphale can't stop looking at.

Inklings and Asters by GreenCat42 (G)

Crowley has noticed the cute tattoo shop owner since he moved in next door with his flower shop. It takes him forever to get the courage up to go talk to him, and when he does, well he gets a new tattoo out of it and possibly more.

A rockstar's love by The_boxhead (G)

Crowley had a lot of problems finding someone to have a relationship with as the famous rockstar that he is. But that day when he entered that coffee shop and saw that blond haired man behind the counter, he didn’t want more than to get to know that beautiful angel with that cute smile.

Ways to Make You Smile by WickedWriter (M)

Crowley has always been awkward around anyone who he develops feelings for. While Aziraphale is always nice to him, he can't help but screw things up when trying to flirt. But when he starts making latte art to impress his angel, it was only a matter of time before he found a way to cock things up again.

Anthophilia by FortinbrasFTW (M)

Anthony J. Crowley's life seems like it's finally falling into place: his floral shop has begun to gain an undercurrent of appreciation in the design elite of London, and he might have even finally found a boyfriend who looks just right lounging on his Tenreiro sofa. Things seem almost perfect, until one day the empty shop across the street is leased to frumpy fellow Oxford alumni, who doesn't seem to remember Crowley nearly as well as he remembers him, which really shouldn't bother him as much as it does - it was ten years ago after all, and it wasn't even that good of a kiss.

Icing on the Cake by Etheostoma (E)

Anthony Crowley's bakery is top in Soho and quickly becoming well-renowned throughout all of London. When Crowley hires the soft-spoken, cherubic Aziraphale as his main decorator, it doesn’t take long before the two men realize that there may just be something to the idea that opposites attract... Or, the bakery AU that no one actually asked for.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #coffee shop au #florist au #tattooist au #bakery au #human au #mod d

[nyuta1509]

Florist x Barista AU

#heaven official's blessing #tgcf #hua cheng #tian guan ci fu #hualian #xie lian #tgcf fanart #art #florist au #barista au #xie lian makes strong ass undrinkable coffee #hua cheng brings him flowers!!!!! #mxtx #nyutaart

[bloomingdog]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 — 𝐇𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

data: your basic florist au, bit of angst, identity reveal, all that stuff. 4k words, no use of Y/N.

You know him, you know what the looks like at the very least. Once a week—the day never stays the same—him and a group of other instrument-carrying people go into the small venue in front of your shop at nine in the evening, an hour after closing the shop, when you’re about to head home. One early morning, out of curiosity, you checked the schedules adhered and covering the roller shutter in a poor attempt to find who this mysterious guy was. You found no useful information in that regard, you did foind, however, that the club opened at ten and most concerts held there started at least half an hour later. With that new gathered intel your best guess was that they came early to get everything set or a rather quick sound-check.

The venue is on one of the corners that limit the four way pedestrian crossing, the two corners on either side both hold pubs, and diagonally there’s you. “For the Roses” is a name given by its old owner, a sweet lady—and Joni Mitchell fan—you had worked for since you were seventeen, and four years later she had decided it was time to retire. For the last five months it’s been just you, it was easier to take care of it when you were two people working, that much is true, but having to close the shop has given you staring privileges. Years ago, when you first started working here the placement of the shop seemed rather odd, between clubs, pubs and the many other forms of amusement, this, however, was a strategical position. A big part of the clientele consisted of repenting boyfriends and enamoured halves of a first date, and they kept the business afloat.

You recognise him the moment he walks in.

“Hello! How may I help you?” The clock ticks away the last minutes before closing as you try to put on your cheeriest voice.

“Hi, sorry about comin’ in so late. My mate’s playing a gig, I just want some flowers to throw on stage, whole dramatics and all.” His voice is smooth with only the slightest rasp to it. He’s a fun last client.

“Do you want the classic roses then?”

“Nah don’t bother, give me the leftovers.” There are one or two extra cuttings and a bouquet that never got picked up you wouldn’t mind getting rid of. 

You excuse yourself to pick out the best leftover flowers you could in an attempt to make a half-decent bouquet. He’s oggling your shop, he’s particularly eye-catching inside your light coloured, slightly old-fashioned establishment. He likes it there, it’s cosy, the floors are filled with different types of flower arrengements and the walls display an amalgamation of different decorations gathered throughout the years, his inspection is only interrupted by your coming back behind the counter.

“Here, I tried to make it as cohesive as I could.”

“It’s alright, love, it’s gonna get thrown anyway.” Oh, that pet name went straight to your chest.

“It felt unprofessional not to give you at least a small sample of my usual, better, quality.” He gave a side smile as a response.

“How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house, no worries, I wouldn’t make you pay for only scraps.”

“That’s quite nice, take this as a tip, then.” He slid a twenty pound note on the counter, right before turning around a saying his goodbyes with a single wave of his hands.

Spinning the sign at the glass door so it reads “Closed” you turn to sweeping the floor and leaving your workplace as neat as possible, you hum along to the song playing from your phone on the counter. The 20 dollars he gave you felt a bit too much, not that you’re going to complain, not with the cost of everything, a flower shop isn’t a luxurious job to have, so it’s much appreciated. 

Drawing the curtain-like metal you spot a group of people walking into the club, one of them must be his friend.

A mere day later, he’s back, making the dainty bells above the door chime.

“Hello! Got another show you need to throw flowers at?” You quip and he chuckles.

“Nah. Only wanted to get actual flowers to have a good reason to ask you out.” He’s confident, maybe overly so, and Hobie is well aware of that, it’s not often that his confidence fails him, though. You look surprised before laughing, it’s ridiculous.

“And what were you thinking of getting?”

“I was hoping you could recommend me something.”

“Roses are usually the go-to flower, although I much prefer freesias.”

“Sick, I’d like a single freesia, please.” He says it in an overly polite manner, the whole situation is laughable.

“That’ll be two pounds.” You say as you hand him the flower.

“Here you go.” You mutter a thank you for an answer. “My band’s playing tonight, at ten, just on the other street, you could come and we could get a drink after.”

No way you’re attending a club on a Wednesday night, with a stranger nonetheless. 

“Sure.” 

“Sweet, I’ll see you. My name’s Hobie by the way.”

And it sounds like proper fun, really.

You’ve managed to avoid the biggest wave of people going home during rush hour and, thankfully, your ride home is as pleasant as the tube allows it to be and yet, you’re restless. His invite plays around in your mind. He’s handsome, that’s for sure, and it would satiate your curiosity on the other side it would also make you tired for work the next day, you’re too old for that, you think and softly laugh at your own joke. The walk home gives you time to ponder on wasted opportunities and the best years of your life, your flat instead greets you with the promise of a reheated dinner and an eight-hour-long sleep which for a moment makes you think about ditching him. 

The commute back feels longer than it usually does. You ate in a rush and got ready far too fast after your flatmate complained about needing to use the bathroom. Your phone marks 10:05PM, fashionably late. You’re thankful the show hasn’t started by the time you sit by the bar, ordering a beer. You still haven’t decided if it’s brave or cocky to ask someone out to your own show.

The whirring of a guitar being plugged signals the beginning of the show.

“Hello, we’re The Spider-Slayers! One two three!” Is your only warning before they start playing. They’re quite good, you have to admit, Hobie, as you’ve recently learned he’s named, exudes power and confidence while on stage, he’s rather skilled. It’s enjoyable, half of the audience is too plastered—it's only ten in the evening—to pay attention to the actual music and are merely glad to have a loud noise playing for them, but they’re well-liked, no doubt an established part of the community. It passes faster than you had anticipated, not even an hour later he’s walking your way while another band prepares to play.

He’s sweaty as he sits down and orders a rum and coke, he looks at you questioning if you also want one. “Make it two.” He indicates the bartender. “Did you like it?” 

He’s tall but not intimidating in the slightest, the metal in his face a contrast to all of his warm side smiles. 

“Yes!” You’re quick to answer. “It was really nice, you guys are good.” He fully smiles at the compliment, he’s got a pretty smile.

“Thanks. I forgot to ask your name earlier, sorry about that.”

“No worries, it’s Y/N.”

“Pretty.” It’s flirty. 

“Did your mate like the flowers?” You ask as the man behind the bar hands you your drinks.

“Totally, made a mess on stage and everything. She was grateful, seriously, funny and praising in equal parts, the bouquet was beautiful too, such a shame it ended like that.” You laugh at that. “How’s it working at a flower shop?”

“Good, actually, better than one good expect, I’d say it’s one of the better retail jobs out there.”

“Seems hard.”

“It is at the beginning, you should’ve seen some of my first arrangements, they were bloody awful, I’m still wondering how we didn’t get any complaints.” It’s Hobie’s turn to laugh.

“You’ve made some improvement then, your shop’s beautiful.” You beam and thank him, you’re proud of the way it’s looking these days. “How’d you end up working there? Do you need a degree to be a florist?”

“Not really, no. I’ve taken a couple courses but for the most part I was trained by my old boss.”

“Hm.” He nods. “Strange place to set up a flower shop, innit? I see you closing all the time and wonder who in their right mind would think of opening it at a nightlife epicenter.” Good to know you’re not the only observer.

“You’d think so! We get a lot of our clientele thanks to that, not all flower shops open until eight either way. Flowers make both great apologies and gifts, you can only imagine the kind of people who walk in there.”

“What, like me?” 

“No way, I’d put you in the normal bunch.” He quirks an eyebrow, an invitation to tell him more about yourself. And that you do. You talk for the two hours that the club remains open, he’s fun, you’re both chatty, you’ve got a multitude of things in common, he tells you about his bandmates, you exchange numbers, he’s a cat person by the way. 

“You want me to walk you home?” The underground closed an hour ago, it wasn’t that big of a trek to your place, you could say yes if not for the stranger—acquaintance—danger middle school talks flashing in your memory. The bus, though taking longer than the tube, was still an option.

“It’s fine, really. I’d rather take the bus.” 

“Got it, I can wait with you if you’d like.” Yeah, yeah, you’d like that. The two of you walk close to each other to the nearest stop. The pavement is damp, it gives you another reason to be glad that you wore your trusty old, slightly dirty, converse instead of a more sophisticated option.

“Thank you for inviting me, I had a nice time, you’re fun.”

“So are you, love.” How could an overused term like that have such a big effect on you when he says it remains a mystery.

You sit in a comfortable silence until the right bus gets there and as you bid your goodbyes you’re unable to contain the big smile you give him, blame it on the drinks. You send him a quick text noticing him that you got home safe and sound before falling into deep sleep.

Your phone rings and vibrates from the bedside table, it always goes off at the same time and yet today it manages to scare you awake. The trip to the bathroom and coffee making is accompanied by a string of curses: music, bad choices, the opening hours of your business and pretty boys all fall victim to your vulgarities. The lack of proper sleep makes your day go by twice as slowly, nodding off and almost missing your stop and doomscrolling during work hours to pass the time, even turning to reading an article from The Daily Bugle, it’s laughable, it’s says something something Spider-Man, something juvenile delinquent something menace for the city.

The chime of little bells half an hour before closing wakes you up better than your alarm had done earlier in the day. Looking up from your phone you spot the same bright eyes and confident stroll that kept you company last night.

“You need to stop coming in right before closing.” You scold him. You’re confident he’s aware that it’s an invitation for him to keep showing up.

“My bad. Do you like food?”

“I-What?” Indeed, what? “I like food, yes.”

“Peng. You want to grab dinner?” And he also needs to stop proposing last-minute plans.

“Where?”

“What do you fancy?”

“Thai?”

“Sure.” 

“I close in half an hour, you can stay here if you want.” Not that you’re expecting any more costumers.

He asks if he can help with anything and you hand him the broom and dustpan that hangs in the back of the shop, he laughs and takes it as payment for having you get out earlier. The floors aren’t dirty per se, it’s mostly leaves and bits of cutting that have fallen. He sweeps while you get everything ready for tomorrow and put away what’s been used today. Half an hour later you hang your work apron and close the shutters. 

There’s a nice restaurant a couple blocks away you’ve got food to-go from before. You order a spicy noodle soup, khanom jeen nam ngiaw, and he settles for stir-fry noodles. It’s good, warm and comforting, you take a bite from his plate and he follows suit with a spoonful of your broth. The conversation picked up while cleaning and it has yet to die down, he tells you about his hobbies—you can't help to make fun of him by saying Hobie's hobbies—and you share your love for museums with him, ‘We should visit one.’ he says to which you agree in excitement. 

You don’t let go of his hand until your bedroom door is closed and you softly push him into bed. Taking only a short break to take off both of your shoes you don’t waist time in straddling him, his hands on your hips as you return to kissing. Soft moans mark the tempo for your exploring hands and you stare at his bare abdomen with much less shame than you think you should have. His hands are slightly calloused and scarred, it doesn’t matter with how skilled they are. It feels like you’re drowning in him, you hope he feels half as good as he’s making you feel, if his breathless mutters of ‘fuck’ and ‘good girl’ are any indicator you can pat yourself on the back after it’s over.

The dinner is paid for, the night chilly compared to the warmth inside the restaurant. He offers to walk you home again, this time you agree because you’re no longer strangers, right? You make it half of the way before puts his hand on your lower back, you don’t make an effort to move it, it’s comfortable.

You make it three quarters of the way until you start kissing, your back against the wall of a mildly busy street, you feel like a horny teenager. You climb up the stairs to your flat two-steps at a time, your hand holding his and praying that your flatmate has confined herself to her room so you don’t have to introduce one to the other, not right now at least.

The morning after your alarm not only scares you awake but it also makes him sit up in bed with a jolt.

“Sorry.” Sleep is still evident in your voice.

“S’okay.” He replies before giving you a chaste kiss on the lips, you don’t think either of you wants to deal with each other’s morning breath, it’s a tad early for that.

You offer him breakfast. Your flatmate has left for work but she won’t forgive you if you don’t tell her of last night’s events. At least it won’t make this morning awkward, or more awkward than it already is, it happens with first breakfasts: sleepy, a mess, cranky from waking up, it’s not anyone’s best look. 

You take the underground while he chooses to walk home, it’s not crazy far away from yours, apparently. In the meantime, the work day is spent looking up frantically every time the bells over your door chime, hoping that it will be him at some point. He does come over, at ten past eight, and he has to knock on the door to catch your attention. Your strange arrangement goes on for the better part of the next two months, he comes over when you’re about to close, you eat together multiple times per week, he’s quite a skilled at making exactly seven different dishes, he invites you to his shows and you’ve met his bandmates, you’ve had every cliché date imaginable: the park, the cinema, the natural history museum, markets, the full deal. You don’t call them dates though, you’re not a couple even with all the kissing and sleeping together—literally and figuratively—he’s told you he doesn’t like labels, but he’s being exclusive with you so you’re okay with it. 

He shows up with little cuts and bruises, you attributed to being clumsy at first but it’s become more common lately, he excuses it as a protest that went south, a moshpit or just a friendly scuffle with his mates. It doesn’t ease your nerves. But you're soon to forget all about it once you’re outside, walking hand in hand and sharing headphones, he’s incorporated bits and pieces of your music to his playlist and he makes sure to show you the songs he thinks you’ll like first than anything.

Your phone lights up with a text notification from Hobie, he’s coming over soon. It shouldn’t be, but it reads as ominous, he doesn’t usually tell you in advance and would rather showing up unannounced.

“Hey pet.” He greets, it’s his latest nickname for you, you’ve always thought it ridiculous but he’s making you grow fond of it.

“Hi Bee” An animal-related nickname you gave him after he tried calling you ‘duck’ that has stuck. “You want to do something or should we head home?”

“Home’s fine, I’m tired.” It’s fair, he’s always running around doing things, you’re okay with a night in. 

He sweeps the floor, it’s his assigned task, you feel bad but he says he doesn’t mind and likes helping you. The ride back to your place is quieter than usual, he seems pensive. You’re about to open the door to your building when you notice him stuck a meter away.

“Are you okay?” Your heart is picking up speed.

“Listen, love.” Oh no. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to come up.” You’re on the second and final step of the stairway while he’s at ground level, he looks smaller than he’s ever been. “I’ve had a lot of fun, really, but I don’t think I can go on with our thing, you know? I’m not good at commitment anyway.” Your lack of a response get’s him speaking again. “I’m truly sorry, I just don’t wanna go on with this and end up hurtin’ you.”

“Okay.” Is the only thing your brain is able to formulate.

“Okay.” He replies. “I’ll be leaving now.” He says as he kisses your temple, turning around and giving you a single wave of the hand for a goodbye.

You feel the tears beginning to fill up your eyes, your vision blurry, at least you were able to hold them until he left, it’s already embarrassing as it is. You don’t bother re-heating dinner that night, choosing to go straight to bed and waking up with puffy eyes in the morning. For the first time in a while you’re sure you won’t have any visits at work, it’s terrible. You feel stupid. He told you enough about himself to know that the two of you weren’t in for a long-term relationship and still you held onto some sort of hope of being an exception. 

That was two weeks ago. You’ve seen him two times since, while leaving for home. He waves your way and you wave back, out of politeness more than anything. Two weeks of radio silence that break your established routine and fill you with a sense of expectation during the last hours of work. 

It’s nine-twenty on a Sunday, it’s usual for you to stay until late at the end of your work week, Hobie knew that and would make sure to keep you company and take you home those days. The early November weather has made it so it’s already been dark for hours, the city is rather calm, you don’t suppose there’s much to do on a cold November night. A series of knocks on the door alerts you of the presence of someone outside, it startles you as you hold the broom you were using against your chest.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight outside the door. Spider-Man was doubling down and leaning against the glass of your shopfront, electric guitar strapped across him and hanging in his back, clad in his usual metal decorations while his suit had been torn. You let him in a hurry, it’s not ideal to have an idol of the working class dead on your welcome mat. He limps to the back of the shop, in your current state of panic you don’t stop to wonder how he knows the way so well, until he’s sitting on the floor and leaning against one of the walls, guitar forgotten besides him. You follow him and crouch at his side just in time for him to take off his mask. 

“Fuck off.”

“Hi pet.”

You were so excited to be done with work and head home to watch a film, lucky for you, your ex-situationship still has a habit of coming in right before you leave. 

“Bloody hell Hobie.” 

“Please don’t be shocked right now, we can talk about it tomorrow.” He can’t be serious. “I’m knackered.” I wonder why, you think. He looks like proper shit.

“Hobie you’re bleeding.” You’re trying your best to be helpful and not panic.

“It’s fine love, it’ll heal in no time, I kinda have superpowers.” You’re choosing to ignore that and get up to retrieve your first aid kit, it’s far too basic to be useful right now, only equipped to help with cuts and minor injuries.

You can feel his eyes on you and your whole body is shaking as you kneel by his side. You try your best to keep your hands steady while pouring rubbing alcohol into a cotton pad.

“You don’t have to, I’ll be fine.”

“Let me clean it, please, so it doesn’t get infected.” He lets you, wincing at the alcohol making contact with his open injuries. He knows you're doing it more for yourself than him. “Sorry.” He shakes his head as a way of saying ‘no worries’.

You reach for his face with your bare hand once you’ve considered him clean enough, you cradle his cheek and can’t hold your tears from spilling.

“This is why I cut thing off with you, you know? Don’t wan’ you getting hurt.”

“I don’t care.”

“Don’t say that.” He pleads. 

“What about you getting hurt? Does that not matter?” He laughs and winces right after.

“You’re a sweet thing. I don’t have a choice but you do.”

“And what if my choice is to stand by your side?”

“You can’t.”

“Yes I do!” You’re reaching tour breaking point and can’t help but raise your voice. “I didn’t know I loved you as much as I do until these last weeks without you. It’s been torture.”

“It’s been torture for me too.” His words soften you, and it’s only then you realize what you said, you don’t dare acknowledge them, maybe he didn’t notice or the head trauma will make him forget it.

You’re crying now and it feels awful because you should be the one comforting him, he’s hurt not you. He holds you as you shake and places a kiss to your head.

“Can we sleep here?” He asks once you’ve calmed down. The tile floor is anything but comfortable and still you nod yes.

You fix a make-shift bed consisting of your bunched up jumper and apron for pillows and your big coat, that barely covers his upper body, for a blanket. Not that it matters, you chose to turn the radiator up and it’s hard to get cold while curled up to a human heater. You’re careful while laying with him, both out of fear of hurting him and prudence of this hurting you even more. He doesn’t care and brings you closer, your head on his chest and his hand drawing shapes on your back over your clothes, you can’t help but worry about the state of his back in the morning. 

You find sleep easier than you have since your “break-up”, his rhythmic breathing lulls you and his caresses calm you down. You’re in the before-falling-asleep-limbo when you hear his voice, he says “I love you too” like a confession secret, you’re not sure if you were even supposed to hear it. It’s too late for you to react, his words mix with the beginning of your dreams into a spiralling nonsense.

🕷 i really enjoyed writing this! i was thinking of maybe doing a part 2? tell me your thoughts if you dont mind too! i haven't written anything that isnt academic in years and i feel rusty

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #hobie brown fanfic #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown drabble #hobie brown blurb #spider punk x reader #spider punk x you #spider punk x y/n #florist au #atsv x reader #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown angst #hobie brown x fem!reader #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x you #spiderpunk x y/n

[georgiapeach30513]

For completely selfish reasons I feel like peorple should pick a Sebastian ai photoset and write a story accordingly... These pics are so headspinningly good, I need a good story to go with it.

I'm becoming obsessed!

Oh!!!! Look what I found 😏 florist Bucky!

#AI!Sebastian #florist AU

[kadyflowers]

Everybody does the florist AU once, right? (Simon’s the tattooist. Obvs.)

#ace attorney #nahyuta sahdmadhi #florist au #my art #aa #aa6 #aa nahyuta #nahyuta #blackmadhi #in my heart

[sakurasserenity]

florist! winter x tattoo artist! reynold ♡

this is actually an older drawing but I never posted it :)

#florist au #tattoo artist au #florist x tattoo artist #reynold x winter #winter x reynold #villains are destined to die #death is the only ending for the villainess #vadd #vadtd #manhwa #reynold eckhart #reynold eckart #winter verdandi #vinter berdandi #reynold x vinter #악역의 엔딩은 죽음뿐 #artists on tumblr #drawing #ibispaintx #digital artist #vinter and reynold are gay and in love i dont make the rules #reynter

[spicycinnabun]

pt. 1 2 4 5 6 7 💐

The third time Eddie stopped by Harrington Floral, it was simply because he felt drawn to it.

The world had been dumping on him lately, and looking at the arrangements was a nice distraction from another college application rejected, another job prospect gone down the toilet because he just “wasn’t the right fit”, his friends leaving Hawkins because they had gotten into colleges, Corroded Coffin officially disbanding, and losing his D&D group, having passed the torch on to Will after he graduated.

Real life wasn’t shaping up to be very metal at all.

The only good thing to transpire was the news Wayne had broken to him last night over their Swanson TV dinners. He had met the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

They had been dating for a few months now, much to Eddie’s surprise. Wayne said when you got to his age, you didn’t fuck around with time. When you knew, you knew.

He wanted Eddie to meet her before he popped the question—not that he needed Eddie’s blessing. It was great for him. He deserved to have someone, especially after going so long denying himself the chance.

Maybe Wayne could finally start his own family that didn’t include his mooching failure of a nephew.

Eddie had about a month to get his shit together, find a (legal, decent paying) job, a place to live, and scram. Wayne told him he didn’t have to be so hasty, that the trailer was his home and he could stay as long as he damn well pleased, but there was no way Eddie was about to crash Wayne’s newlywed life.

It was time for Eddie to finally make his own way in the world. He just wished he knew what direction to take.

In his pocket was the phone number of a dude who needed a roommate. He’d torn it off an ad he found taped to a payphone outside the mall.

He would call tonight. Maybe it would pan out. Maybe it wouldn’t.

The When I Think of You bouquet had long since been sold and replaced. The new one in the display window was called Wedding Bells, Eddie guessed, because it had bell-shaped flowers. They were an assortment of white, reds and yellows, with baby’s breath layered in between.

Maybe Eddie would place an order for Wayne’s wedding. He wondered, too, if he would ever get married. Probably not. It wasn’t legal and most likely wouldn’t ever be.

Not only that, but he would have to find someone willing to spend their entire life with him. That seemed… as likely as hell freezing over. Eddie knew he was a lot to handle for a single week, let alone years or a whole damn lifetime.

Eddie leaned over to smell one of the dramatic, bridal white Angel’s Trumpets.

He’d always enjoyed flowers. He had a tattoo of one on his inner arm, another small ode to his mother, but he wanted more. He wished there wasn’t such a stigma about men liking them. It wasn’t fair, but neither was most shit in life.

🌷🪻🌻🌹

co-writing this with @batty4steddie 💕

steve’s pov is next!

#fic #wybmb #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie au #florist au #stranger things #florist!steve harrington #wilted flower eddie #🥀 #little bit of angst

[navybrat817]

Adventures in Babysitting

Pairing: Florist!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You learn something sweet about Bucky when you have to babysit at the last minute. Word Count: Almost 2k Warnings: Fluff, self-doubt, crying baby (is that a warning), slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: @christywantspizza , thank you for the wonderful request for our florist and just being awesome. Hope you like it! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You consider yourself to be a smart and capable woman. You handled most issues with grace and a level head when they came your way. Ruth leaned on you more than once when problems came up during her wedding planning. It meant a lot that she and others could count on you.

Which is likely why your neighbor, Ava, came to you for help.

"I'm so sorry to bother you. I know you don't know me very well."

The poor woman tried to compose herself as she rocked her five month old baby, Harper, in her arms. They hadn't lived in the area for very long, but Ava was polite when you saw her. You always stopped to chat with her for a minute and made silly faces at the baby. It was sweet.

Seeing her in your doorway in tears almost made you tear up.

"Are you okay? Is Harper okay?" you asked, rushing to get her a tissue. Just because they looked fine physically didn't mean they weren't hurt. "And you aren't bothering me."

"We're fine, but it's a family emergency," she told you as fresh tears fell, wiping her eyes as she balanced Harper with one arm. "I'm sorry to ask, but would you be able to watch her? Hopefully no more than a couple of hours? I've tried calling everyone else and I can pay-"

"I can watch her," you said, holding out your arms. You didn't have anything else going on and you wanted to help her. "You just take care of what you need to do."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you," Ava said, smiling through her tears. She handed you the diaper bag before you carefully took Harper. "I owe you one."

"No, you don't. Just take your time and be safe," you urged, smiling down at the baby. You were glad she was at least somewhat familiar with you. "Does she need a bottle?"

Ava quickly explained that you would need to feed Harper within the next twenty minutes. She left instructions in the bag with how much to feed her, along with diapers, wipes, burp cloth, extra onesies, a blanket, and her teething ring. She also had your number to keep you updated if she would be longer than a couple of hours.

"Thank you again," Ava said, giving her baby a kiss on the top of her head. "Mama loves you. I'll be back as soon as I can."

You gently shut the door with your foot once Ava left, smiling wider when the baby cooed. "We're going to have a lot of fun, aren't we?"

Harper wouldn't stop crying.

"Do you want me to put you down?" you asked, carefully placed her on her back. You winced when she let out a louder cry. "Okay, okay. Bad idea. Sorry," you said, picking her back up.

You gave her the bottle exactly as instructed. You burped her afterward. She had a fresh diaper. She wanted nothing to do with her teething ring. Soft music didn't calm her down and she wouldn't sleep.

What am I doing wrong?

"You miss your mama, don't you?" you asked as you tried to rock her.

More tears rolled down her cheeks as she cried louder, making you wince again as the sound echoed in your ears. You began to walk around the room, doing your best to soothe her. Admittedly, it had been years since you babysat, but you were usually able to keep most babies happy. Why couldn't you do the same with Harper?

"What can I do?" you asked yourself, taking a deep breath when your phone rang. "Shh, shh, it's okay," you said softly, keeping Harper against your chest as you answered.

You didn't even bother to see who called when you put it on speaker.

"Hey, Petal," Bucky's voice happily rang out. "I'm leaving the shop and I was-"

Harper wailed before he could finish his statement.

"Is that a baby?" he asked after a beat, clearly confused. You didn't blame him. You hadn't had a chance to message him that you were babysitting. "Is everything okay?"

"It's my neighbor Ava's baby. She had a family emergency and she asked if I could watch Harper. Bucky, I can't get her to stop crying," you explained, almost in tears yourself. "I-I don't know what to do."

Something had to be wrong with you if you couldn't calm a normally happy baby.

"I'm on my way, okay? You got this," he promised, his tone gentle, but not condescending.

"Okay. I'll see you soon," you smiled for his sake before you hung up. "I got this."

Harper sobbed as you began to walk again.

I don't got this.

Bucky took the crying baby from your arms the moment he walked through the door. There was no fear in his eyes when he looked her over, only concern. He gave you a once-over, too. You probably looked terrible.

Can't call me perfect anymore.

"I fed her, burped her, changed her, tried to put her down for a nap, walked around with her," you told him, watching as he slowly put his hand on Harper's tummy. "Maybe she just doesn't like me?"

"I don't think it has anything to do with you," he said, cooing as he walked over to the couch. "You love Petal, don't you?"

You knew deep down there could be many reasons why Harper was upset, but you wished you knew how to help.

Bucky took a seat and furrowed his brows when he felt her tummy again. "How long ago did you feed her? Did she drink her whole bottle?"

You checked the time. "Over thirty minutes ago. And she drank the entire bottle pretty fast."

"Should be plenty of time to put you on your tummy, right? Poor baby. You're probably still a little gassy, aren't you?" he asked, smiling tenderly as placed her across his legs on her stomach.

You watched in fascination as Bucky began to slowly rub her back. Harper's cries began to decrease after a minute and you finally felt the tension leave your shoulders. Seeing your beefy florist calm an upset baby was a sight to behold. The ease at which he handled her made your fall in love with him a bit more. Especially since you knew how far he had come with his metal arm.

I think my ovaries clenched. How is that possible? No, focus.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as Bucky began to hum. The sound seemed to soothe Harper even more. The cries stopped completely when she let out a loud burp.

"There. That's better, isn't it? No wonder you were upset. That was a big burp," Bucky said in a quiet voice, still making small circles on her back. "Let's see if there's anymore, okay?"

You sat down in the chair, wringing your fingers in your lap as Harper burped again. You should have known to try that. Why didn't you?

"Um, thanks."

You tried to smile at Bucky, but it fell flat.

He shook his head when he caught your frown. "Hey. Don't beat yourself up. You did everything right, okay? I don't know how gassy she normally is, but it could've been because she drank her bottle so fast."

Of course, he knew I'd mentally chastise myself.

You did smile this time. "How do you know so much about this?"

"Um," he shifted so he could readjust Harper and lay her against his chest. She looked so small in his arms, but perfectly content. "Becca was a colicky baby?"

"Was that a question?" you teased.

He blushed as he held Harper a bit closer when she yawned. "I'm kind of embarrassed because we haven't really talked about it," he began as you raised an eyebrow. "I've, uh, read a couple of parenting books and done research on babies because. Well, I might want to be a dad one day."

"You want to be a dad?" you asked, moving from the chair so you could sit beside him. You were careful not to jolt him or disturb Harper. She needed her rest. "And you took it upon yourself to research this kind of stuff?"

"Yeah, I did," he said, avoiding your gaze momentarily. Did he think this topic scared you or that you'd judge him? "I know some things about parenting can't come from books, but a bit of knowledge wouldn't hurt. I just want to be a hands-on dad if it ever happens, you know?"

The blush almost spread to his neck as he kissed the top of Harper's head. Somehow your boyfriend continued to find ways to surprise you and melt your heart. He deserved a family and all the happiness in the world.

"I think that's sweet."

"You do?" he asked, uncertainty in his blue eyes as he looked at you.

That look doesn't belong there.

"Yeah. You're always good with the kids in the shop and I don't know many guys who would take that kind of initiative. You really are one of a kind," you said, smiling when his gaze returned to normal.

He leaned his head over to brush his lips against yours. There was relief in his kiss and you returned it with your own. He saved the day and you were thankful he could be honest with you.

"I didn't want to freak you out," he said

You glanced at Harper, who had her eyes closed. She must have fallen asleep moments ago, either exhausted from her cries or soothed by the florist's warm presence. It could have been both.

She feels safe with you, Bucky. As any lucky baby would.

"I don't think you could ever freak me out, but we can discuss it more over dinner if you want," you said as you put your head on his shoulder.

"I'd like that," he whispered.

The soft tone had your heart skipping a beat. "Besides, you have the paternal instinct down pact. Bet that's why your hair is pulled back."

"It's from work, but I'll take the compliment. And you have a maternal instinct," he told you, making you snort in disagreement. "Hey, none of that. Ava trusted you enough to leave Harper with you and that says a lot."

"But I couldn't soothe her," you whispered.

"Was she happy before she was gassy?"

You thought about it. Harper was fine in the beginning and snuggled against you. She must have felt safe and happy enough in your home.

"She was," you said truthfully.

And I'd be upset if I was gassy, too.

"So you're fine," he smiled. "And you know what else is a good motherly instinct? Asking for help when you need it, like you did today."

He soothed both of us, Harper.

"But we don't need to talk about that now," he added. "I think you deserve a break."

You knew he was giving you an out in case the topic made you uncomfortable.

"We can discuss it over dinner," you offered, seeing the corner of his lip tug in a smile. "Thank you for taking care of her and being my hero," you said, closing your eyes and resting your hand on his chest beside Harper's head.

You pictured Bucky in his shop with a baby in his arms, wearing a blue shirt to match the onesie as he showed him or her all of the beautiful flowers with a loving smile. He even had his hair down in your daydream so your baby could play with it. He'd be so caring and proud. Everything you wanted and more.

"You'll make the best daddy one day."

After a moment, Harper's little hand wrapped around your pinky finger.

"And you'll be the best mommy, Petal," Bucky whispered.

If he was sure of it, so were you.

I love them! ❤️ Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #florist!bucky barnes #florist!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #florist au #beefy florist au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan #florist and petal #bucky barnes x y/n

[jammyjamster]

thinking up a florist au that is based off of a fanfiction.net fic that has natebit + minor lawlight to satiate my needs

#death note #lawlight #light yagami #l lawliet #natebit #nate river #mail jeevas #death note fanfic #death note fanfiction #au #florist au #death note au #death note florist au

[fortheloveofallthings]

Steddie Florist AU - Part 2

Part 1

Steve watched in a haze as Eddie stepped out the front door with his new dahlia. Of course this mystery man gravitated towards them, he thought to himself. They stick out in a crowd, are revered for their beauty, often symbolizing kindness and everyone that loves dahlias is obsessed with their moody aesthetic. Perfect for Eddie. Thankfully Robin wasn’t here today to poke fun at his now blossoming crush. He continued his usual tasks, happily letting thoughts of the bartender fill his mind. 4 hours, he can stop by the bar in 4 hours.

Eddie practically skipped the remaining block from the Flower Shop to the bar. Chrissy was already pulling down chairs from the tops of tables as he entered. “I finally walked in!” He announced. Her blonde ponytail whipped around as she placed another chair down. “You walked in? Like actually step foot inside?” she questioned, excitement woven into her tone. Eddie nodded as a smile stretched across his face. He held out the dahlia with Shakespearean flare knowing it would be proof enough. “He gave it to me on the house, so I offered him a drink tonight,” he smiled walking past Chrissy towards the rows of liquor behind the bar hoping to find something empty enough to use as a vase. It didn’t take long skimming through the shelves before he landed on a Tanqueray bottle he could rinse out. Chrissy made her way towards him to start prepping the garnishes, “A flower on the house?” “Yes, on the house.” Eddie reiterated. “I can’t believe the first time you actually step foot in there, the florist who you’ve been eyeing for months, flirts with you within what? 5… 10 minutes of you being there! And you arrive with a dahlia of all things,” Chrissy says in almost disbelief. Eddie had already rinsed the now completely empty bottle of gin and carefully unwrapped the flower from its tissue paper to place it in and out on the bar in full display, “So? It’s just a flower, he’s a florist, it’s a flower shop. He’s probably given loads of customers free flowers.”

The statement was as humbling as it was disheartening. Eddie wanted the flower to be a special moment between the florist and him. But romance was never company, not for any of the Munsons. Romance was a daydream. So the realist in him crushed any hopes of love before they could take root. No one had won the key to his gated heart. “Oh come on Eddie!” Chrissy scolded as she placed the lime knife down, “Dahlias represent long lasting bonds, love, devotion. Flowers have their own language and meanings. This man thinks you’re beautiful and I’ll bet he also has a crush on you.” Eddie was struck, dumbfounded, “What do you mean flowers have language? You can tell all that by a single flower?” “Yes, Eddie, I can. Lesbians know a lot about Victorian flower language. It’s a whole gay thing,” she explained. He humphed in curiosity, contemplating this new information, “Well don’t get my hopes up too high. I barely spoke to him and I can only pray to whoever’s out there he’ll even make an appearance later.”

Steve wrapped up his shift soon enough. Thankfully a customer’s custom bouquet order held his attention for the last 2 hours making the time fly by. He left the keys for Vickie to lock up as she arrived and he ran out the door. He sprinted back to his apartment, and opened the door to the small studio decorated with plants, paintings Robin made for him, and photos of him and his step-brother Dustin. Steve rushed through his shower so he could spend a decent amount of time on his outfit and hair before racing towards the Red Dragon. After much deliberation and a quick FaceTime with Dustin and his girlfriend Susie he settled on his light brown bomber jacket with the olive tinted elbow patches, a perfectly fitted off-white button up with a small leaf pattern, blue jeans and his slightly worn down converse. Susie suggested most of his clothes which was new territory for them but Dustin reassured him he looked like himself and not the straight-passing jock he typically would anywhere outside the shop. Steve smiled in the mirror as he did a final fit check, laughing at the accuracy in which Dustin described him then was out the door without any further hesitation.

#steddie fanfic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #made it longer #look out for part 3 #florist au #steve is a florist #eddie is a bartender